


the two of us (shall go on to a world without time)

by Rethira



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rethira/pseuds/Rethira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I always want to see what the Master looks like not a minute, but a half an hour after he thinks he's killed the Doctor For Real This Time. My guess is he'd panic and flip his shit at about the seven minute mark, and be wondering how he could break into the Matrix again, steal bio-data and clone himself a new boy friend around minute fifteen..."</p><p>This is that fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [x_los](https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_los/gifts).



> The quote in the summary is from [x_los'](http://archiveofourown.org/users/x_los/pseuds/x_los) really really amazing [Three/Delgado!Master episode highlights post](http://best-enemies.livejournal.com/27172.html) (I recommend reading all of it, but the quote comes from the _The Time Monster_ entry).
> 
> Neither the Master, Doctor nor the Doctor's companion are meant to correspond to any specific versions or characters. They are all, if you like, alternate versions in a universe where the Time War never happened, or possibly versions from far into the future.
> 
> That said, this Master has more in common with Delgado!Master than he does with Simm!Master, which I think is fitting, given what inspired this.

For the first few, glorious seconds after finally _definitely_ killing the Doctor, the Master is ecstatic with joy. The Doctor’s latest snivelling human companion weeps on the floor, doubtlessly condemning the universe for allowing this to happen, but the Master cannot bring himself to care.

He’s _won_! Victory is assured! There will be no last minute strategic explosion, no shocking yet inevitable betrayal, no triumphant return!

The Doctor is dead! Let all the cosmos weep for him!

The heady thrill starts to wear off after about three minutes, when he realises that despite him talking about the Doctor and how wonderful it feels to have finally defeated him, the Doctor’s pet human is completely ignoring him and continuing to weep on the floor.

He trails off mid-sentence, scowls when that fails to elicit a response, and pokes her with a modified staser. She screams unintelligibly and shoves the staser away. And then continues to weep. Definitely not one of the Doctor's more inspired choices in companion, but perhaps she'd been more useful before he was dead.

“You know,” the Master comments, “I cannot even begin to conceive of a reason why the Doctor would keep such weak willed and unintelligent creatures as yourself around. Why should he surround himself with the very excrement of the universe, when he could have ruled by my side? We could have been the Masters of the Universe! We could have destroyed galaxies at our whim! We could have razed the universe of its most treacherous species, and ruled with benevolence! And yet he chose to mingle with you _creatures_ – talkative apes, with more of a concern for what you looked like than the mysteries of the universe.”

He pauses. The girl sobs slightly louder. The Master considers the relative merits of knocking her unconscious versus leaving her awake. Certainly she’d cease her crying, but then he wouldn’t have anyone to talk to about how the Doctor was his only equal in the universe.

“Not,” the Master says, “that he was my equal, as I have demonstrated today. I overcame him! I defeated him! I _mastered_ him!”

The girl makes a noise not unlike a cat having a bucket of water upended over it, but otherwise fails to comment on his delightful pun.

“You know, the Doctor would have done more than simply sit on the floor and _weep_. Oh, he grieved of course, but he was a man of action! Grief never slowed him down, my dear, not like it seems to be doing for you. If you had died in his place, he would have still tried to thwart me!” The Master moves around the console. He raises his hand above a large, conspicuously placed, red button. “And yet with you, all I need do is press this single button, and I'll have _won_.”

The girl staggers to her feet. It is somewhat obvious that she can barely see through her tears. The Master might pity her, if he was given to pity. “Don’t,” she croaks, wetly. She totters towards him on feet that seem eminently unsuitable for the task.

“Don’t be ridiculous, child!” the Master snaps. “Is _that_ the best you can do? Is this _all_ that remains of the Doctor? Are _you_ to be his legacy?! Don’t make me laugh! As if anyone could aspire to such heights – why, even were I to gather all of his companions, they could never amount to even half a man such as the Doctor! None of them will amount to even a fraction of a _fraction_ of the Doctor!”

The girl shakes her head. “We- we’ll remember him! We’ll stop you, and those like you! We’ll never forget!”

The Master sneers. “You think _you_ can defeat me? Even the _Doctor_ couldn’t defeat _me_! For all his efforts, all his pains – now, at the last, he has _fallen_.”

The girl lets out a renewed sob. “No,” she whimpers, “he can’t have.”

“Oh, but he _can_. The Doctor is _dead_ , you simpleton. No amount of snivelling will bring him back.”

Actually, no amount of _anything_ will bring him back.

The Master pauses to examine that thought.

The universe... _without_ the Doctor.

 _Forever_.

The Master finds himself saying, “Although, it occurs to me, that this is not the first time the Doctor has feigned death in order to undermine me. I generally find that he presents himself not long afterwards, to gloat. Most unattractive in a person, wouldn’t you say? I could never abide the Doctor _gloating_. He didn’t have the face for it. Faces.”

The Doctor’s companion makes a queer noise; something between crying and laughing. The Master ignores her.

“His faces were always far too innocent. He could never pull of the right expression of _menace_ – no wonder he never wanted to rule! He’d be laughed out of office! No-one would ever take him _seriously_!” The Master pauses.

“ _You_ did,” the girl says, bitterly. “ _You did_.”

For some reason, the Master feels dreadfully off kilter. “Yes, I- yes. I did. I _did_. Because I _knew_ , you see. I knew what the Doctor was capable of! The only person in the universe _capable_ of matching me... and I’ve _destroyed_ him.”

The feeling in the pit of the Master’s stomach is one he easily identifies – he typically gets it when some moron inevitably betrays him at just the _wrong_ moment, or when the Doctor has somehow engineered the Master’s certain defeat without visibly _trying_.

Somewhat headily, the Master notes that he is beginning to panic. Or perhaps has been panicking for quite some time, even.

He stares blankly at the place where the Doctor fell. There’s no body left, of course. Just the beginnings of a scar – well, what can one expect when a Time Lord dies? What can one really expect at all? The body is just- just a protrusion, he remembers. Beginning biology, perhaps, or some other very early lesson. Time Lords are not bound to these dimensions. Time Lords live beyond the dimensions perceived by everyone else. The body of a Time Lord is simply... simply a means, through which Time Lords can affect the universe.

However real the body may feel, it’s only a container.

“Yes,” the Master says, slowly. It’s been fifteen minutes since the Doctor died. Fifteen minutes. “The Matrix- they won’t have just let him _die_. Not even they are _stupid_ enough to do that. Not when he’s- he’s the _Doctor_. A mind like his must be preserved.”

The Master turns around abruptly, stalks from the control room and down the labyrinthine corridors to his TARDIS. He’s vaguely aware of the girl following him, protesting something or another, but that hardly matters. His TARDIS welcomes him, perhaps with only a touch of disapproval.

“Oh, don’t fuss so,” the Master says, as he sets their destination, “we’ll retrieve him soon enough.”

He could clone the Doctor, place the memories inside that new body. But that would necessitate two excursions, and one would undoubtedly inform the Time Lords to prepare for the other. Perhaps a mechanical contrivance- a body built by the Master’s hands alone, crafted to his own specifications. A Doctor he could _control_. A Doctor he could _master_.

The idea is thrilling, for a moment. But a Doctor who could never challenge him? A Doctor he could keep- as a pet? Like the Doctor keeps his humans? How dull.

So then. Organic. There would be bio-data to steal, eventually. The Doctor’s mind must come first, of that there is no doubt. No time to lose either. Who knew what those fools on Gallifrey would do to the Doctor’s mind once it was in their power.

The bio-data would have to wait then, until he could conceivably obtain it. It might even necessitate crossing his own time stream – always a giddy thrill to be had when you did that, the Master found – or! Or! Crossing the _Doctor’s_ time stream!

But in the interim... in the interim, perhaps a mechanical body would not be so bad. Prove to the Doctor that he lived, died or lived again, all at the Master’s hand. If not the Master of the Doctor’s choices, then the Master of his life instead. An equitable exchange.

His TARDIS lands, quite jarring the Master from his thoughts, and it’s only then that he realises he has inadvertently brought along a passenger. At any other time, the Master would have cursed himself for his imperception. But this is a _special_ situation.

The girl clutches at the door and says, “Where are we?” She doesn’t even sound _scared_.

“Get out of the way,” the Master snaps. She doesn’t respond immediately, but does retreat when he advances upon her. She tumbles out of the doors in a manner that might be considered comical, and flinches when he stalks past her.

She’ll serve as a wonderful distraction, he thinks. A marvellous distraction! He hopes she runs up to alarmed Time Lords and shouts nonsense at them and attracts far more attention than he _ever_ has.

Stealing from the Matrix is, after all, fraught with danger. Or so the Time Lords have always claimed. The Master tends to find that walking in, shooting the nearest – and quite often, _only_ – guard, removing the corresponding data and then leaving is usually more than sufficient.

The problem this time is that the Doctor, apparently, does not _want_ to be found. It’s very interesting in fact; all the signs point to his memories, even his consciousness as being present in this particular subsection of the Matrix, and yet he is nowhere to be seen. _Someone_ , the Master notes, has been poking around certain files of extreme clearance level. Mostly files regarding renegade Time Lords, stolen TARDISes and, notably, death certifications.

“Not so fast, Doctor,” the Master murmurs.

There’s an interesting blip in the designated storage section for deceased Time Lord’s memories – and yes, there is the Doctor’s mind, slipping, neatly as it pleases, back into its place in the Matrix. The Master breathes out indelicately, overcome with excitement, and initiates a transfer to his TARDIS. If the Doctor’s mind has any issues with _that_ , it keeps them kindly to itself.

The subsequent chase through Gallifrey’s most decadent and sublime hallways, across miles of highly polished red – to hide the bloodstains – marble floors and then out across immaculate swathes of burgundy grass, past several hundred robed and bemused Time Lords, and then back into his TARDIS is, the Master admits to himself, almost _thrilling_.

The girl seems to have crawled back into his TARDIS. She looks up when he enters, a scowl on her pretty face.

“So, you’re back then,” she snaps. As if she has any right to be angry with him. As if she has any right to even _address_ him.

“You noticed!” he exclaims. “And here I had thought you a complete buffoon!”

She makes to protest at that, rising to her feet and striding towards him. It’s the work of a moment to expel her from the TARDIS. She pounds on the door once, twice, and then they’re in the Vortex, blissfully alone.

He, his TARDIS, and the Doctor’s mind.

As it _should_ be.

“I had better get started then,” the Master announces. His TARDIS, with something of the attitude of a wearied mother, pats him telepathically on the head and rearranges the robotics laboratory so that it will be slightly nearer.


	2. The Authorised Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Master rhapsodises over how much building a robot body for the Doctor ~~gets him off~~ was a _stimulating_ experience.

The Doctor comes back to life roughly three days, six hours and forty-three minutes later.

The Master hasn’t slept in nearly four days. In extreme situations, Time Lords can go without sleep for much longer than that, but even so. Four days of near continuous work, barely pausing to eat or rest his – shaking – hands. Such things take their toll.

But it was worth it.

The Doctor is a _marvel_.

The Master had considered crafting a body identical to one the Doctor had vacated. But he’d discarded the thought – this body was to be entirely the _Master’s_. Oh, the Doctor would return to living in a biological body of his own, eventually. But he’d always remember this. A body of the Master’s design, of the Master’s making.

The Doctor's body is taller than the Master. This seems only right; the Doctor is generally a tall man, and any discomfort the Master will gain by having to look up to _this_ Doctor will be immediately erased by the knowledge that the Master _made this_.

The Doctor’s face is modelled, by necessity, upon one of his previous bodies. Not in its entirety, of course. Bluer eyes, somewhat softer features. Darker hair, although still kept long, as the Doctor had favoured when he wore that face. His voice had given the Master some difficulty. Oh, to replicate organic design in a robotic body! There were mechanical lungs that only served to draw in the air necessary to allow the Doctor to speak using facsimile vocal cords, instead of the poor imitation voice box most androids had. The human ear could never tell the difference, but to the Master, well. The idea of being reminded of the Doctor’s falsity is _intolerable_.

As to the rest; synthetic skin is easy to obtain, easy to grow. Connecting skin to the false nerves had been more difficult, but delightful for it. It’s made so as not to scar, unlike true, organic skin. The Doctor will go positively mad with it! What, after all, is the point of skin that did not scar?

Long, delicate fingers. Elegant hands, under which it is possible to see faux bones and muscles flex. Beautiful in its intricacy – strange how the Master had never admired the Doctor’s hands before, yet now he can barely take his eyes from them.

The Doctor’s insides are no less perfect than his outside. If anything, the Master might say they are more so.

Two hearts beat in the Doctor’s chest. A perfect reproduction of Time Lord biology, and each heart adapted to serve a purpose as well as reassurance. As the idea of hearing the flaw in the Doctor’s voice sickens the Master, so too does the idea of touching his chest and feeling _nothing_.

So yes, the Master’s hands may be shaking, he may be vibrating with too little sleep and too many stimulants, but it is all _worth it_.

The Doctor wakes slowly. He blinks new, blue eyes. Swallows – the function of the mouth alone had taken the Master near twelve hours to complete – and licks his lips. Counts his teeth, the Master imagines, and tastes his new tongue.

The first thing the Doctor says is, “I’m dead.”

“No,” the Master replies. “A universe without you, Doctor, is one scarcely worth living in.”

The Doctor peers up at him, the look in his eyes familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

The Master finds himself continuing, “And one should only live in it when they are certain in the knowledge of your return.”

At that, of all things, the Doctor smiles.


	3. The Unauthorised and Completely Untrue Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all lies! Don't listen to a word he says!

“So, if I’m to understand you correctly, I was dead for half an hour and then you stole me from the Matrix and spent three days-”

“Three days, six hours and forty-three minutes,” the Master interrupts.

The Doctor rolls his eyes. “Three days, six hours and _forty-three minutes_ building me a new body.”

“Yes,” the Master agrees. Very, very vaguely, he considers asking the Doctor to wait until _after_ the Master has slept before they attempt any long conversations.

The Doctor’s face twists into a peculiar expression. “I must say, that does sound rather _odd_. Especially after all those years you spent trying to kill me.”

“Water under the bridge,” the Master declares magnanimously.

The Doctor frowns, and then climbs off the medical table. He is _magnificently_ tall, and, apparently, not prepared for the task of standing, as he wobbles.

After gaining his balance, the Doctor asks, “You don’t happen to know what happened to Madeline do you?”

The Master almost protests that he has no idea who Madeline might be, when he abruptly recalls the Doctor’s companion. Something sours in him, just a little.

“If you’re referring to that human you had following you about, she is either still on Gallifrey where I left her, or has been returned home without incident.” Knowing Gallifrey, it’s probably the former, and they are probably being most _inhospitable_.

The Doctor sighs. “Master,” he says, seemingly unaware of how thrilling it is to hear him say that, “Master, I think I should get you to bed. And then we can see about rescuing Madeline.”

As both of these things don’t sound too horrible, the Master acquiesces. ‘Acquiesces,’ a word here meaning that he almost collapses into the Doctor’s arms, briefly overwrought, and allows himself to be half carried to his bedroom, where he drags the Doctor into bed with him and refuses to let go, somewhat like a large and vicious teddy-bear hugging octopus.

The Doctor, for his part, falls quite willingly into the role of the teddy-bear being hugged.

The Master falls asleep to the soothing murmur of the Doctor saying, “... and I _bet_ you forgot about your silly doomsday device... bet you never even pressed that big red button and I do love a big red button....”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find it helpful to imagine that the entire time the Master was building the Doctor a robot body, he had [Just the Two of Us](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jEy6MGu3bIA) going round and round in his head.


End file.
